Josh Lyman's Terrible Secret
by usakeh
Summary: This is a woeful tale explaining the origin of Josh Lyman's most terrible, terrible, terrible secret.


Josh Lyman had a terrible, terrible, terrible secret.

Nobody knew about it. Not the President. Not Leo. Not Toby. Not Sam. Not even Donna. He just couldn't afford to tell them. He couldn't afford the possibility of one of them telling the press. It was just the sort of secret that could completely ruin his career.

He could remember, with perfect clarity, when it had happened for the very first time. It had been around midnight and it had been pouring. The fog was thickening about his car as he drove; even the brightest streetlights were fading into the haze. With a smile, he'd swung his car around a curve and slammed down on the accelerator.

It was no secret to the rest of the White House staff that Josh liked to drive fast. His colleagues only allowed him to take the wheel with the greatest reluctance; only dire necessity would convince them to take the passenger seat. The methods by which he must have extracted a license in the first place were a matter of constant speculation. When questioned on the matter, Josh would only assert that he didn't drive fast. The rest of the world just went far too slow.

It was also a well-known fact that there was a direct correlation between Josh's mood and his driving speed. On most mornings, he'd be too sleepy to shatter speed records; on good mornings, he'd have his passengers screaming at him to slow down; on bad mornings, his passengers wouldn't say a word. They'd be too busy holding their breath. On most evenings, he'd wreak havoc on Washington traffic patterns all the way home. After all, he was Josh Lyman. Traffic signs were for mere mortals to obey; he was the White House Deputy Chief of Staff.

As Donnatella Moss knew all too well, though, the most dangerous time to be in the car with Josh was when he was in a very, very, very good mood. On his best days, Josh Lyman firmly believed that he was the most charming man in all of Washington. He could walk into a room and sweep even the most morose Senators off their feet. He could spin his silver-tongued speeches around you until you'd feel positively dizzy. He could slide down the halls of the West Wing with his trademark swagger, a smirk on his face, and a devious sparkle in his eyes – and he could convince you of absolutely anything.

Unfortunately, on his best days, Josh Lyman also believed that he was destined to defy the laws of physics.

But I digress. That much was common knowledge. Josh's secret stemmed from another event that changed his life on that windy winter night.

It occurred right as he slowed slightly for a stop sign. He had one hand on the wheel; the other was reaching behind into the backseat to pull his gloves out of his backpack. It was freezing for some reason, even in his car. And it just wouldn't do for the White House Deputy Chief of Staff to have to be cold while driving home. That would be absolutely unacceptable.

While occupied by this most important quest, however, Josh accidentally failed to realize that a car was racing down the street crossing his in the intersection. A beep burst through the air; Josh looked up, frowning furiously. Did they know who they were beeping at? They were beeping at a man who had single-handedly pushed a bill through the House and Congress a few short hours ago. The nerve!

Josh slammed down on the accelerator and swerved out of the way, the wheels of his car skidding dangerously against the slick, wet pavement. The deputy swung around in his seat, his hand flying forward and smacking against the radio panel. A few seconds later Josh spun around again and continued heading home.

That had been all.

It was only when he arrived that he realized that his radio had been blasting a Britney Spears song so loud he was probably sending the sound up to the third floor of his apartment building. He shook his head. He'd probably accidentally changed his radio setting from National Public Radio to some Top 40 station when he'd had to spin his car around.

Josh leaned back in his seat, preparing to turn off his car.

And that was when it hit him.

Without noticing it, he had started dancing to the song. Without noticing it, he had started singing along to the song. Without noticing it, he had started…

…to really, really, really enjoy it.

Changing his mind, Josh pulled out of his parking spot and sped down the street, opening his windows to the wind and turning the music all the way up. He was Josh Lyman, Harvard graduate, Fulbright Scholar, and politician extraordinaire. And he was listening to the trashiest pop music he had ever heard in his life and…

…absolutely loving it.

Oh yeah.

He was just that cool.

When he finally arrived home, he logged on to and ordered every pop music compilation he could find. Within weeks they were scattered about his apartment, and had to be hurriedly hidden every time a visitor was arriving. If his friends ever discovered what kind of music he really listened to, after all, the mockery would never stop.

One day, he swore, he'd have the strength to come out and say it.

"My name is Josh Lyman, and I am addicted to really, really, really embarrassingly bad music."


End file.
